Лиза Клейпас - Chasing Cassandra

“What will Ethan do when he finds Lord Lambert?” Cassandra asked.

“There’s not much he can do,” Devon admitted, “but at the very least, Ransom will scare the wits out of him.”

“If that’s possible,” Cassandra said, finding it difficult to envision the arrogant Lambert being frightened of anything.

Winterborne spoke up then, having had longer acquaintance with Ethan than any of them. “When Ransom was a government agent,” he said quietly, “he was the one they sent to terrify the terrorists.”

That made Cassandra feel a little better.

Devon turned his attention to Lord St. Vincent. “How did it go at the London Chronicle ? Did you find out who wrote the column?”

“Not yet,” St. Vincent admitted. “I tried bribery as well as threats of legal action and bodily harm, but the chief editor kept waving ‘liberty of the press’ in front of me like a little parade flag. I’ll exert pressure in various ways until he gives in, but it will take some time.”

“As if ‘liberty of the press’ gives someone the right to commit libel,” Helen exclaimed indignantly.

“Libel is difficult to prove,” Winterborne said, holding his wife’s hand and playing lightly with her fingers. “If a published opinion isn’t based on a deliberate misstatement of fact, it’s not libelous. Whoever wrote the column was careful in the wording of it.”

“Obviously Lord Lambert wrote it,” Pandora said.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Helen commented thoughtfully. “It doesn’t have the tone of a young person. The manner is scolding . . . lecturing . . . not unlike a disapproving parent.”

“Or chaperone,” Pandora added, grinning at Lady Berwick, who gave her an admonishing glance.

“But who would be motivated to single out Cassandra as a scapegoat?” Kathleen asked.

Lady Berwick shook her head. “It is unfathomable. She hasn’t a single enemy that I know of.”

The tea was brought in, along with plates of refreshments: lemon tea cakes with fluted edges, currant scones, plates of tiny sandwiches, and toasted muffins with jam. Cassandra briefly considered nibbling on a tea cake, but she was afraid she might not be able to swallow it without choking.

Midway through the tea, the butler came to the doorway and announced a visitor. “My lord . . . the Marquis of Ripon.”

The room fell abruptly silent.

Cassandra felt the cup and saucer rattle in her hands.

Lady Berwick instantly took them from her. “Breathe, and remain calm,” she murmured near Cassandra’s ear. “You need say nothing to him.”

Devon stood to greet the marquis, who came in with his hat and gloves to indicate he would not stay long if his presence wasn’t wanted. “Ripon,” he said darkly, “this is unexpected.”

“Forgive me, Trenear. I don’t mean to intrude. In light of recent events, however, I felt it necessary to speak to you as soon as possible.”

The marquis sounded very grave, his voice stripped of its former sneering edge. Cassandra risked a glance at him. He had a certain hawklike handsomeness, his form slim and smartly dressed, his black hair threaded with silver. “I came to tell you how thoroughly I condemn my son’s actions,” he said. “It grieved and angered me to learn of his conduct. Nothing in his upbringing would explain or excuse it. Nor can I fathom why he would speak so recklessly about it afterward.”

“I can answer that,” Pandora broke in heatedly. “He started the rumor out of spite, because my sister didn’t want him.”

Ripon looked directly at Cassandra. “I apologize most humbly on his behalf.”

She nodded slightly, comprehending that he wasn’t a man who was often given to humbling himself for any reason.

Lady Berwick spoke frostily. “One would wish, Ripon,” she said, “that your son had come to tender the apology on his own behalf.”

“Yes.” A rueful note colored his reply. “Unfortunately, I have no knowledge of his whereabouts. I’m sure he dreads my reaction to what he’s done.”

“What of the column in the Chronicle , Ripon?” St. Vincent asked, staring at him intently. “Who do you think wrote it?”

“I know nothing about that,” Ripon said, “other than it was reprehensible.” His attention returned to Devon. “For me, the issue of paramount importance is how best to help Lady Cassandra. Her reputation has been harmed . . . but perhaps the damage is not irreversible.” The marquis lifted his hands as if anticipating a volley of arrows. “I beg you to allow me to explain.” He paused. “Lady Cassandra, if I were to bring my son before you, penitent and profoundly apologetic—”

“No,” Cassandra said, her voice bowstring-taut. “I have no interest in him. I never want to see him again.”

“As I thought. In that case, there’s another candidate I would like to put forth for your consideration: myself.” Seeing her astonishment, Ripon continued carefully. “I am a widower. For some time, I’ve searched for someone with whom I could share the kind of contentment I enjoyed with my late wife. I find you ideal in every regard. Marriage to me would restore your reputation and lift you to a high place in society. You would be the mother to my future children, and the mistress of a great estate. I would be a generous husband. My wife was a very happy woman—anyone who knew her would attest to that.”

“How could I possibly become Lord Lambert’s stepmother?” Cassandra asked, revolted.

“You would never have to see him. I’ll banish him from the estate altogether if you wish. Your happiness and comfort would take precedence over all else.”

“My lord, I couldn’t—”

“Please,” Ripon interrupted gently, “don’t give me an immediate answer. I beg you to do me the honor of taking some time to consider the idea.”

“She will consider it,” Lady Berwick said flatly.

Cassandra glanced at her in mute protest, but managed to hold her tongue. She owed it to Lady Berwick not to contradict her in company. But she knew exactly what the other woman was thinking. This offer, from this caliber of man, wasn’t something to turn down summarily.

“I’ve been lonely for a long time, Lady Cassandra,” Ripon said quietly. “I’ve missed having someone to care for. You would bring much joy into my life. I’m sure the difference in our ages gives you pause. However, there are advantages to having a mature husband. If you were mine, every obstacle, every thorn and rough patch, would be cleared from your path.”

Cassandra glanced at Lady Berwick, whose brows lifted an infinitesimal but significant distance, as if to say, You see? He’s not so terrible after all.

“You will have many questions and concerns, of course,” the marquis said. “Whenever you would like to talk with me, I’ll come at once. In the meantime, I’ll do everything I can to publicly defend your honor.”

A new voice entered the conversation. “Well. That would be a refreshing change.”

Cassandra felt her heart jolt painfully as her gaze went to the doorway, where Tom Severin stood.

Chapter 15

The butler, who had been waiting for an opportune moment to announce the new arrival, was clearly disgruntled at having being preempted before he could perform his duty correctly. “My lord,” he said to Devon, “Mr. Severin.”

Unlike the marquis, Tom had already dispensed with his hat and gloves, as if he intended to stay for a while.

Devon went to him, deftly blocking his way. “Severin . . . not now. We’re dealing with a family matter. I’ll meet with you later and explain—”

“Oh, you want me to be here,” Tom assured him nonchalantly, and walked around him to enter the library. “Good afternoon, all. Or evening, I should say. Are we having tea? Splendid, I could do with a cup.”